Roy Haynes Excels in Birthday Concert

“Every time I come to Boston, I rejoice,” said Roy “Snap Crackle” Haynes as he stepped up to the stage for his birthday concert at Scullers Jazz Club last Friday night. Back in his hometown once more, the legendary jazz drummer offered glimpsed memories of growing up in the city. At the age of seven, he was entranced by the lady next-door playing Gershwin on Sunday nights. As a teenager, he was sent to the principal’s office in Roxbury Memorial High for drumming incessantly on his desk. At 20 years of age, he collected a letter inviting him to join Luis Russell’s band at the Savoy Ballroom in Harlem. He accepted. “The rest,” said Haynes, fresh from his 85th birthday just two weeks ago, “is history.”

And what an exceptional history it is. Haynes’ résumé, forged over nearly seven decades, is to die for. Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Pat Metheny and Chick Corea are among the many luminaries who have continually called on him to help them shine. Haynes credits a lifetime at the forefront of jazz to his natural feel for swing—his drumming was once described by Thelonious Monk as being like “an eight ball right in the side pocket.” His success must also be due to his constant evolution: he has met the needs of each successive jazz generation without ever losing his singular identity.

Joined by his aptly-named “Fountain of Youth” band (Jaleel Shaw on saxophones, David Wong on bass, and Martin Bejerano on piano), Haynes’ concert last Friday showcased his breadth of experience, and his mastery of the stylistic spectrum. His sensitive lightness of touch on the ballad “For All We Know” was contrasted with the face-melting tumult he unleashed on John Coltrane’s lightning-fast “Mr. P.C.” The impeccably poised swing he invoked throughout with his riding right hand was equaled by an absolute command of fluctuating time in a subtly free performance of Pat Metheny’s “Question and Answer.” It is clear that Haynes is no mere accompanist—he reacts to the soloists, throwing their material right back at them, spurring them on to greater heights.

Haynes’ passion for his life and music is infectiously apparent. At the microphone, he exudes a witty enthusiasm. At the drums, his joyful energy seems limitless. Eyes closed with a broad smile spread across his face, he throws his arms high in the air before bringing them snapping down on his high-tuned snare. Haynes never stops moving for an instant. During a wonderfully moody rendition of the Cole Porter classic, “My Heart Belongs to Daddy,” he rocketed the intensity through a magnificent arc: starting at a whisper, he rose to a ferocious height that drowned out the band, before standing up and walking round the stage, tapping out the fading beat on his sticks.

Was my enjoyment inflated out of proportion by my respect for his vigorous old age? Occasionally he’d falter a fraction, and I’d hastily scribble something like, “he’s mellowed; he’s not his former, razor-sharp self.” But this is too critical. His drumming rang with every ounce of his vast experience. Perhaps most telling was his playing during a bass solo. Haynes chose to pare his palette down to just one cymbal. Stripped bare with nowhere to hide, he shone with unobtrusive inventiveness, sending the rhythm skittering into ever more complex patterns. Haynes is still very much the real thing.

The gig ended with a drum solo that was a pounding frenzy of sound. Haynes finished by leaping up from the kit, as if scalded. The audience’s immediate standing ovation was augmented with an impromptu chorus of “Happy Birthday,” accompanied by the band. “Growing up I couldn’t even think I’d still be living at this age,” said Haynes, in a kind farewell; “It feels like a dream... I love it.”